The Agony of Futility
by TheQuietAwakening
Summary: After Voldemort is hit with his own rebounding curse, his body is destroyed, leaving him little more than a disembodied soul. Now, he lurks in a forest of Albania, waiting for his followers to find him, waiting for freedom. - Written for QLFC Semi-Finals


**Round: Semi Finals – It's a Classic**

**Team: Wimbourne Wasps**

**Chaser 1 prompt: Call of the Wild – A character makes changes in order to adapt to a new environment.**

**Optional prompts: (colour) indigo, (word) freedom, (word) futile**

**Word Count: 1028**

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My time will come. Surely it will be a magnificent uprising, casting fear into the hearts of every living being. What a day it will be, what a shock when they all see the Dark Lord they thought was dead take his reign once more.

I keep my mind fixed on what's ahead, on the wondrous fate that will inevitably befall me. But patience I must have as I wait for the most loyal of my followers to find me. They could never believe what the rest of the world might. A child kills me! Foolish! Ignorant! They only believe what they want to be true. But I had another plan, a better plan.

A floating, vaporous cloud of darkness among the trees, I exist. I am trapped in this state of nothingness, and it consumes me. It eats at me, a gnawing ache that never leaves, a pain with no cause, a weakness that infuriates me. It is a hot, burning rage that is impossible to quench, manifesting in physical agony, constantly reminding me of a body that no longer exists. At first, I thought the anguish of being ripped from my physical form would dull and extinguish, but no, it remains. And it fuels me. I hunger for the power I once had, a power I will regain.

The world surrounding me is hazed in darkness; dimness intrudes upon my vision, upon my senses. Dark blue; indigo. I believe it is a sign. The sky's atmospheric blue is darkened by whatever ethereal being I have become. It casts a tinge of night on the day, filters the world through its shade with a denotation of loyalty.

My followers, they worship me. They hold me high as a king, a master, and they will not leave me in this haze of meager existence forever. There will be consequences if they do, I can promise that. Just imagining the punishment they will receive if they do not search for me with every waking hour, brings back even the smallest hint of power.

I will escape.

I will find freedom from this blasted state.

But time. The concept is quite fleeting. It could be that I have only been lurking in this forest for mere moments, or maybe it's been years. The day and night seem to always be the same, the burning of my non-existent flesh is ongoing, the hunger is never-failing, the exhaustion never waning. There is no constant, linear change from which I can glean how much time has passed, how long it has been since I was the almighty Dark Lord.

Oh, how I long to perform magic. I am powerful. I am the greatest wizard Britain has ever known. Now, even the simple act of holding a wand is futile. My weakness disgusts me, angers me. The world will never be prepared for the wrath they will face when I finally have my strength restored. Nothing will stand in my way.

As I stare out at the forest where I have decided to hide away, an idea strikes me; quite brilliant indeed. I watch as the creature slithers along the ground, the mark of Slytherin in its form. A curious thought, but it just might work. I may not be able to use magic, neither am I completely dead, but perhaps my form will allow the inhabitation of another. Then I could have some sort of body at least, perhaps quell the pain of disembodiment.

I lower myself down to the level of the snake, a deep green in the indigo haze of the sky, and I stare into its eyes. It seems to know what I want, and like any creature with a semblance of self-preservation, it begins to hiss threateningly. But I always get what I want. Pulling myself into the snake's body is easy enough, though it is strange, to say the least. Finally, I can breathe once again, I can feel the ground beneath me. I am still weak, without magical capabilities, but there is something more than I had before, something tangible.

Perhaps, I can survive in this alternate body until I am discovered by my faithful followers.

I pull myself forward, contracting the muscles of this new form to slowly inch myself along the ground. Pitiful. Grovelling on the ground was not what I was made to do. I consider if becoming the snake is worth the self-depreciation that is even lower than being only a soul. The pain is less, but the weakness remains.

Had I known what I would face instead of death, would I have chosen to split my soul and strive for immortality? I might be suffering, might be weak, might have fallen from everything I ever prided, but I am alive. And I will return. I will be stronger than ever before, unstoppable. People will fear me and bend to my will, my followers will worship me even more. Once I have been shown to have escaped death, or maybe even raised myself from it, my power will be known. I have no regrets.

My time will come.

I will be free.

I will rule.

* * *

As time goes on, the snake I inhabit begins to fade. It gets weaker, and my pitiful state once again begins to come through. So I leave the body to die, exhaling myself out into the forest once again.

And the pain returns with a vengeance, seemingly worse than before. My soul longs to attach itself to a host, flailing through the night in agony without it. Though not much better than floating in nothingness, the snake fulfilled its purpose.

I choose another.

And when it dies, I possess again.

And again.

And again.

Then I see him, a fumbling fool of a man wandering the Albanian forest. He's not a follower of mine, but he'll do. I can make him perform the magic that I am unable to. I can convince him that he will be great, will be glorified. He will do what I want because I always get what I want.

As he wanders closer, I see it like a beacon pulling me in.

Freedom.

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**Thank you so much savedprincess85 and Hemlockonium for beta'ing!**


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